


sugar, salt, and cocaine

by fullonmonet



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Face-Sitting, Gambling, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minor Violence, Recreational Drug Use, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 22:23:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15616305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullonmonet/pseuds/fullonmonet
Summary: “Odd group,” he notes, which was the first thing anyone’s said since Roy had entered the car. Olivier handed him a tissue earlier to wipe off the blood on his face, but that was doing nothing for the swelling, so all he could do was lean his cheek on the window to cool it down somewhat.“It could be worse, I guess,” Olivier replies. Calm, she still sounded like a schoolteacher, like she was scolding Roy for even thinking about the improbability of her, Riza, and Roy meeting like this.“It stinks like blood in here,” Roy further points out.





	1. on this endless night

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the mv of '[365 fresh](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8gPQenyj1nI)' by triple h. title's from my chemistry textbook
> 
> big love to reena and sandra for the support!! i couldn't have done this without you guys. ♡

**call it luck, maybe**

Olivier looks like shit, but there’s nothing she can do except rinse the blood out of her hair. She’s bent over the sink, watching the pink water swirl into the drain till it fades into nothing and hoping that whoever enters the bathroom doesn’t think she smells like something insidious, something like sweat and blood and the dark alley not too far from this bar, actually—this bar that let Olivier in because the lights were too dim to see anything other than the flash of gold from her neck.

A woman enters. Olivier freezes, her hands steady above her breasts, holding a napkin because she was wiping blood out of her shirt. The woman teeters over in her heels, snatches the napkin out of Olivier’s hands. “You gotta dab it,” she slurs, “or you’ll stain it. It’s such a pretty top.”

“Thanks,” Olivier murmurs. “Mind if I borrow your perfume?” She sprays herself liberally then thanks the woman modestly, leaving her to mooch off a drink from somebody.

The seats by the counter were taken except for one next to a man in a suit, who was mouthing off at his phone and paid no attention to Olivier when she took the empty seat, though by the time he finished, he’d angled himself _just so_ , watching her gather all her hair onto one shoulder so she could leave her neck exposed to him just so.

He has a nice voice, smooth and modulated, and he orders two shots of whiskey, neat (or does she prefer hers on the rocks? Neat is good, Olivier says). After he hands her a glass, he notes, “I haven’t seen you here before.”

“I don’t come here.”

“You should. We could use your company around here.”

At that, Olivier smiles at him. “Cheers to that,” she says, then brings her glass to his. She watches him drink, making out the circles under his eyes (a banker? Lawyer?). He could pass out anytime soon, the thought making Olivier’s body go into an impatient thrum.

“So what brings you here?”

“I was on a date,” she answers, lowering her voice like she was confessing.

“Turned out badly?”

“I got stood up. Can you believe that?” she scoffed.

“Beautiful girl like you?” He shakes his head, frowns, then shakes his head again.

“Looks aren’t everything,” Olivier argues.

He could only nod before he found his words, going, “Yeah, of course, of course. _But_ it makes things easier, doesn’t it?”

“You’d do anything for a pretty girl,” Olivier teases—accuses—him.

“That’s how the world works.”

She tucks the stray lock of hair behind her ear, using it to cover her face as she rolls her eyes. “I’m going out for a smoke,” she tells him, leaning close enough that her lips ghost over his cheek. “Do you have any?”

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a car key along with a box of cigarettes and a lighter. He’s checking his phone for messages as he does, not noticing that Olivier took everything with her out the door.

 

The car is nice, fairly new but nondescript with an impersonal licence plate. That’s all she noticed before she went down the now empty street, letting her hungry stomach guide her into turning right at the next stoplight.

A figure looms out of the shadows, palms with long, slender fingers pressed flat against the hood of the car. She faces Olivier with only surprise, her eyes wide and hair dishevelled, much like Olivier’s, who surprises herself by unlocking the car to let her in.

The drive goes on in silence, and it doesn’t take long for Olivier to notice the stench of blood on the girl, the stain of it on her clothes, smeared against her cheek and throat. Her hands are trembling, too, and she curls her hands into fists to keep them from doing so.

“You know, he probably deserved it,” is all Olivier says to break the deep silence then hands the girl a napkin.

 

(He crept his hand up her skirt and kept it there, his thumb tracing circles on her bare thigh— _coaxing_ , promising to be gentle or that she’ll like it, swearing by the knee between her legs. There’s a light pressure on her crotch where Riza horrifyingly realises the heat of her body is travelling to, so she stays frozen like this, trapped between him and the prep table.

Everyone else went home already. Call it luck, maybe. Riza wants to scream, but it’s useless, and if she opens her mouth—the smell of him, the cooked food, the grease, the smoke, all rushing into her mouth—she’ll gag.

When he pulls away to bring his pants down, Riza realises she doesn’t have much time, so she scrambles for anything she can reach, eventually going for a steak knife. He comes nearer again. She shoves it right into his neck then tries to push him back with her free hand, heart flying into her throat when he grips her wrist. Though it doesn’t hold for long; his fingers slip down her forearm as he stumbles back, loses his footing, falls, all while clutching his wound as blood leaked out in rivulets.

His dick was out, softened and pale and ugly. Riza sinks down to the floor and heaves a sigh of relief.)

 

“What’s that thing about not crying after some trauma?” Riza asks Olivier after a mouthful of burger.

Olivier wipes her mouth with a napkin and shrugs. “Seems like it hasn’t sunken in yet, that’s all.”

 

 

**not (dying) tonight**

The burn on Roy’s stomach looks like a Rorschach test, so if he stares at it in front of a mirror long enough, he might be able to clinically determine what a former therapist termed his inner darkness is, a darkness that longs to be freed and acknowledged so it can be healed. Or something like that.

It’s tight and taut, pink skin stretched out shiny, and it’s uncomfortable when he moves, but it’s not ugly, at least. Plus, it’s healing. Roy pulls the torso of his hoodie down then takes a piss before going back to sleep.

When he wakes up again, it’s dark out, literally anywhere from eight pm to four am. He’s hungry, getting up to put on jeans so he could go out and buy food. Once out, he stops by the corner of his block and pulls out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, mostly because he hasn’t decided on what to eat.

Just then, a car comes, and with Roy almost hidden on the edge of the sidewalk and the lack of anyone else on the streets, it seems like the most serendipitous thing, this car that was speeding down the empty road. Roy squashes his cigarette down with the heel of his sneaker then dangles his foot forward, using it to shift his weight—

He realises he’s being lifted up by his shirt, fists curled into the material by the woman straddling him. She’s incredibly pretty, but her expression so ugly; she scowled at him as she decked him right on the side of his face, his head falling on the concrete with a solid thud. “Do you wanna fuckin’ die?” she demanded. “I’m gonna kill ya, ya fuckin’ _bastard_ —”

“ _Please_ ,” Roy could beg, but he just laughs it off, blood running into his mouth so it sprays out of his lips.

She lets go of him but grabs him again, landing blows till her own knuckles were stained red. This is it, Roy surmises. This moment where he realises it’s getting harder and harder to breathe and he can no longer tell the shape of his body on the ground, kinda like he’s floating. Unfortunately, someone else gets out of the car and she stops at the other woman shouting, “Stop it! You’re gonna kill him!”

“He wants it, Riza,” the woman on top of him snarls, and Roy’s jolted back to earth as he feels the weight of her on him, the tension between her rock-heavy thighs, feeling rather than seeing because of the blood dripping down into his eyes. “Right?”

Roy moves his head towards the general direction of Riza’s voice and says, “Yeah.” After that, there was only silence. Roy imagines Riza shaking her head, maybe chewing on her bottom lip. Then Riza speaks up: “No.”

“ _What_?” the other woman demands.

“He’s not dying tonight, so let him go, Olivier,” Riza says with the most beautiful finality in her tone. She gets back in the car and slams the door behind her.

 

Some time after Olivier started driving, Riza falls asleep. Her body slumps into the seat like she could trust the two of them—it wasn’t smart, but she was correct anyway. Roy sat right behind Olivier, wanting to stretch his legs on the backseat if not for the utter grime on his pants.

“Odd group,” he notes, which was the first thing anyone’s said since Roy had entered the car. Olivier handed him a tissue earlier to wipe off the blood on his face, but that was doing nothing for the swelling, so all he could do was lean his cheek on the window to cool it down somewhat.

“It could be worse, I guess,” Olivier replies. Calm, she still sounded like a schoolteacher, like she was scolding Roy for even thinking about the improbability of her, Riza, and him meeting like this.

“It stinks like blood in here,” Roy further points out.

“It’s you,” Olivier counters.

“You, too, lady. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

She stays quiet, not even sparing a side-eye for him, so Roy continues, “None of my business, huh? The way I see it, we’re gonna be together a while, so you might as well tell me. I’ll even carry your secret to the grave.”

 

(“Here’s what you’re gonna do”—the man takes Olivier’s phone from her back pocket and hands it to her—“you’re gonna call daddy and sort yourself out, okay, princess?”

“You think I’d have my old man’s number in my phone?” Olivier deadpans. “Go home.”

“We had a deal,” he reminds her. In all honesty, Olivier wanted to scream, but she keeps her voice collected as she reminds him, “Then don’t out me next time. I don’t appreciate a client who gets in my way.”

He scowls, taking a fistful of Olivier’s hair and yanking it, forcing her to face him square in the eye. It pisses Olivier off, his breath so close to her that she wanted to recoil, so she kicks him right in the crotch, wincing at the strands of hair that have been ripped off her scalp when he stumbled. She kicks him again before she’s dragged away from him by his thugs, who don’t hesitate to land blows to her stomach to bring her to her knees.

By that time, he’s able to stand up, and he’s looking down at her as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where are your manners, princess?”

“Mommy didn’t tell you you shouldn’t be hitting girls?” Olivier retorts, her words coming out in gasps. A sharp pain rises up in her every time she breathes, blood catching in her throat.

“Mom left me when I was a kid, _but_ my old man’s always said girls were fair game,” he says with a shrug then lands a punch to her head.)

 

Roy whistled low. “You’re tough as shit,” is all he could remark, which makes Olivier snort. She must think he’s not all that bright, really. Who wouldn’t?

“You don’t think I’m bluffing?” Olivier asks.

“I don’t know why you would,” Roy tells her. “This isn’t the best time to be playing games.”

“Hm, dead man like you’s probably seen everything already.”

 

 

**i had this dream**

They had entered the highway around the time Olivier decided they needed to stop somewhere to gas up, veering towards the nearest exit, where she quickly pulls up the car next to a pump then goes inside to place a deposit. Riza stirs awake and turns her head back to face Roy. “We should clean ourselves up,” she mumbles. “I’ll get you some ice.”

When Olivier comes back for her change, Riza follows her close by, placing a bag of ice on the counter along with a couple other things: toothbrushes, toothpaste, several bags of chips. At this rate, they’ll only last a day, Olivier thinks; touching her bank accounts seemed out of the question while on the run.

“Did you ever check the trunk?” Riza asks.

“No?”

“I think we should, see if there’s anything we gotta get rid of, you know.”

Olivier pretends to think about it, but at the end of it, Riza was right. “You carry these,” she tells Riza, referring to the plastic bags containing everything they bought. They walk out of the store together and stop at the sight of Roy leaning over the trunk of the car with his arms crossed.

“Looks like we had the same idea,” Riza tells Roy, who only grins widely at her like a fucking idiot.

“You’re gonna love this.” He opens the trunk and steps aside to let Olivier and Riza take a look so that when they see the duffel bag filled with cash, all he does is laugh, so utterly pleased with himself.

 

The first thing they do afterwards is check into the most expensive hotel in the city and buy a bottle of whiskey from the convenience store across the street. Even if the sun’s about to come up, it feels just as if the night is about to begin, a mood that could only be described as _settled_. Riza celebrates by taking a long, hot shower and lounging on the nearest bed in the suite from the bathroom, holding her hand out appreciatively for the whiskey Olivier’s poured into a glass for her.

“Thanks,” Riza sighs as their glasses touch and she takes a long drink, letting it warm her from her chest to her fingertips.

“Never had a shitty drink in your life?” Roy teases Olivier, who made a face on the first sip.

“I’ve had some,” Olivier argues. “You should never get used to shitty drinks.”

Roy eyes his glass with a frown, swirling the contents around. “Guess I’m used to it after all.”

Sensing the tension, Riza lets out a giggle, covering her mouth with her glass. “Come now, don’t be so serious. We’ll just get something nicer tomorrow,” she says, which makes Olivier smile at her. And it was a pretty smile—disarming, maybe, for how sweet it made her look.

“You’re weirdly… cheerful,” Roy notes.

“Guess I’m just tired,” Riza drawls. “It’s been a long night.” She draws her legs into herself and takes another sip. Olivier mutters something about needing a shower, so she goes into the bathroom, the lock on the door sounding with resolve. it was then that Roy pipes up to ask:

“What happened?”

This time, Riza frowns, which made it seem like she was only just pushing the thought so far from her mind only for it to snap back as soon as she forgot she was holding it away from her. It takes a long sip before she could admit to Roy that she killed someone, but it was an accident! He had come after her and she had never felt a fear that was so utterly paralysing—it truly scared her to be that desperate, she swears.

Roy only listens, never opens his mouth to say anything even if he wanted to, pours himself another shot, his eyes going glassy as Riza described trying to drag the guy’s body out of the kitchen through the restaurant’s back door and her grip slipping because the blood was getting everywhere. By the end of it, Roy’s hands were clammy and trembling, obviously uneasy.

“Sorry,” Riza says.

Olivier had just come out of the shower then, her body wrapped up in a towel while her hair fell down her shoulders in a scraggly mess and her makeup was all gone except for the stubborn smudges of mascara around her eyes. She eyes the pair and asks, “What are you apologising for?”

“Things kinda got dark,” Riza explains. “I was telling him about what happened.”

“You don’t have to apologise for that,” Olivier says at the same time Roy says, “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” They share a look, which Olivier shrugs off by going back to her glass of whiskey.

“Guess we all got something we’re not proud of,” Riza says slowly. “Maybe that’s how we found each other.”

“Do you believe in fate?” Olivier asks. Maybe she was mocking her, but Riza was earnest.

“If I did, nothing would faze me,” Riza answers. The bark of a laugh Olivier lets out startles her.

“I like that. That’s a good answer.”

Riza hums, holding her glass out for Olivier to pour a shot into. “Enough about me, please,” she sighs. She fixes her eyes on Roy as she drinks, watching him squirm with discomfort. It felt a little nice to see him that way, Riza decided.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“What about me?”

Olivier scoffs and says, “You’re not seriously asking that, are you? You were some dumb bastard jumping in front of my car like that.” She sits on the other side of the bed, the towel falling dangerously low on her back, but she does nothing except prop her feet up and scowl at Roy.

“Don’t expect a sob story,” Roy warns. “I just thought it was a good day to die and you happened to be there.”

“Maybe don’t involve other people next time,” Olivier scolds.

“Sorry. Anyway, I don’t know… I had this dream, so I worked my ass off for it, but I felt like nothing the longer I continued to do it. It’s not that it felt _wrong_ , I just—I wasn’t happy doing it anymore, like there was no point, like I’m walking in a dark tunnel and the light’s getting farther and farther away.” Not wanting to say anything anymore, Roy stops to take a drink, his eyes catching briefly on Olivier, who hadn’t taken his eyes off him at all.

“What were you doing before this?”

“I was working on my PhD in chemistry.”

“I’m sorry,” Olivier says.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I mean, I thought you were a dumbass.”

Roy’s face breaks out into a grin. “Can’t blame ya,” he drawls. “In any case, I put it off for the semester. I wasn’t getting any work done and the guy I kept making cry referred me to a therapist.”

“Did it help?” Riza asks.

“It did, but without my research funding, I can’t afford it.”

For some reason, this made Riza sad, and she watched him get up from the bed, stretch, declare that he, too, needs a shower, and lock the door behind him in the bathroom with that strange yet pervading sadness. Her eyes welled up and the tears began to flow freely down her face, nearly making her choke on her drink.

“What’s wrong?” Olivier asks. She meets Riza’s eyes and opens up the space beside her on the bed. Riza puts her glass down then joins her, lifting up the blanket so she could curl up where it’s warm. Safe under the covers, Olivier holds her face, something gentle, her thumb brushing the top of Riza’s cheekbones.

“I killed someone,” Riza whispers. “He had a whole life ahead of him and I—I took that away from him. I—”

Olivier shushes her, using the tips of her fingers, pressing the pads of them against Riza’s lips. “There’s no changing that now, Riz. We can fix this, if you want. _Do_ you want that?”

Riza doesn’t know what to say, and she places her hand over Olivier’s like she’d find all her answers written on the inside of Olivier’s wrist.

“Do you want to leave?”

It’s then that Riza takes the hand away from her face, asking, “Are those my only choices?”

“They’re all I can think of right now,” Olivier admits, “but whatever you want, I’ll find a way.”

Riza snorted. “You must be really rich or something, huh.”

 

**from 1 to 100**

Riza’s coworker at the restaurant, Rebecca, was gonna have a birthday party at her house the night after. She remembered that Rebecca invited her after Olivier suggested they go clubbing, and it was gonna be a big event anyway, so why not go and maybe find out what Rebecca knows? Anyway, Rebecca reminded Riza to bring booze and plenty of it, because she was afraid of running out.

“Cute neighbourhood,” Olivier remarks as Riza pulled up on the curb near Rebecca’s house, five bottles of tequila, two kegs of beer, and a bottle of champagne loaded in the back.

“It was her grandmother’s. She moved in with her boyfriend when her grandmother died,” Riza explains. “You have to say hi to Jean, too. The boyfriend.” She doesn’t mention that Jean is a ridiculous pothead, but she figures they’ll find out once they all meet each other.

“They’re not getting married?” Olivier asks, which makes Roy laugh out loud.

“You kinda just gave away your age,” Roy points out. With a scowl, Olivier orders him to carry the booze to the house.

“Riza motherfucking Hawkeye!” Rebecca shouts from the entrance of the door, held around the waist by Jean, who had his face buried in the crook of her neck but lifted it to face Riza.

“Hey, girly! How ya been?” Jean greets.

“Good!” Riza shouts back from the car. “Brought a couple friends, is that okay?”

“Can’t say no since they so kindly brought booze,” Rebecca coos. “Jean, be a darling and help the gentleman.” Jean goes and Rebecca moves closer to Riza, keeping her eye on Roy and Olivier as she and Riza hugged. “They’re awful good-looking. Where’d y’all meet?”

That was Olivier’s cue to cut in, answering, “Tinder,” in such a deadpan voice that it takes a moment or two for everyone to laugh.

“Wow, Hawkeye, never would’ve guessed,” Jean says with a shake of his head. “And _I’ll_ take _that_ , thank you very much.” He takes one of the kegs from Roy as well as a bottle of tequila and heads with Roy to the inside of the house.

“The guy’s Roy,” Riza tells Rebecca. “This is Olivier.”

“Fancy name,” Rebecca tells Olivier as they walk towards the house. “Honestly, I thought you were a model or something, pulling up here in those kinds of clothes. You dressed Riza up, too, didn’t you?”

Olivier smiles and teases Riza. “They suit her quite well, don’t you think?”

“I’ll say.” They enter the house and Rebecca nudges Olivier closer to the living room. “We got someone linin’ up drinks over there, so just make yourself at home, okay? I need to borrow Riza for just a sec.”

“Of course.”

“She’ll be right with you,” Rebecca promises, her fingers already curled into the fabric of Riza’s jacket. Riza found herself dragged to the kitchen, standing in front of Rebecca, who perched herself on the counter and poured herself a glass of water. “Hey, did you hear about Bob?” she asks, her voice dropping so low it gave Riza shivers.

“No…”

“It’s _crazy_. Kain, like, called me this morning when he came in to do prep, gave me the shriek of his life when he called, you know? Said he found Bob’s body on the floor and there’s blood _everywhere_ —”

“ _What_?” Riza hears herself asking. There’s thunder in her ears, too, and it sounds like a tsunami. “But… we were closing together last night…”

“Yeah, that’s what I know, too,” Rebecca says with her brows furrowed together. “So you really didn’t hear anything?”

Riza shakes her head. “I left early. Got my period, so I was just _dying_ , and I asked Bob if I could go home and rest. We were just about done anyway, so he didn’t think much about it.” She never lied that much in such a short period of time, but Olivier spent the entire drive to Rebecca’s house coaching her till Riza could lie without having to swallow down something like guilt first.

“Honey, that’s awful,” Rebecca sighs. She draws Riza to her again for another hug. “Imagine if you didn’t leave home early… You could’ve died, too. I mean, Bob was _tragic_ , believe me, but I ain’t gonna miss him, you know? He was a real perv.”

“Did he… Did he do anything to you?”

“Asked if I’d suck him off in the pantry,” Rebecca says, “so I told him about Jean. He thinks Jean’s a shrimp and a half, and I just _know_ he was waiting to get me all alone with him. I feel bad that I’m even thinking this, but I’m relieved he’s gone.”

“I thought I was the only one!” Riza exclaims. “He hit on me, too.”

“Oh, no, _honey_ — Come on, lemme fix you up something to drink. Let’s say good riddance to that son of a bitch.” Rebecca brings them to the living room, which was a crowded mess of people, but the table of drinks was thankfully emptier. “What’re you having?”

“Let’s have some of what Olivier got,” Riza suggests. She opens one of the bottles they brought while Rebecca lined up the shot glasses in front of them.

“Speaking of, how’d you snag a rich little lady like her? And _Roy_ —I’m a little jealous, Riz. You went from one to one hundred.”

Riza laughs, the constrictions around her chest loosening up a bit. “Don’t let Jean hear you say that,” she teases, which Rebecca dismisses with a flick of wrist.

“Lord knows I didn’t date him for nothing,” Rebecca says with a wistful sigh, thanking Riza for the shot she’s put in her hand. “Cheers, hon.”

“Cheers. Happy birthday!” It’s great tequila, which thoroughly impressed Rebecca, who quickly urged Riza to pour them another go. As Riza poured, Roy materialised from wherever he’d gone off to, hanging onto Jean’s shoulders because he felt like his legs were jelly, or so he tells Riza.

“Do you wanna go upstairs with me, Riz?” Roy asks through heavy eyelids, his smile a little lopsided and goofy. “Pretty please?”

“Y’all started already?” Rebecca asks with a slight pout.

“What can I say? Mustang and I hit it off,” Jean says with a clap to Roy’s back that propels him forward, Riza catching him but only barely, his weight causing her to stagger back on the heels Olivier picked out for her.

“Easy there,” she murmurs, nose tingling at the way Roy smells. “Anyway, where’d Olivier go?”

“Her? Miles got her to do shots. Seemed like he was kinda into her,” Jean answers with a shrug and a sly smile. “You going up with us, then, Hawkeye? There’s plenty to go around.”

“She’s got a superhero name,” Roy tells Jean, somehow oblivious of the fact Riza’s the one holding him upright. “Riza motherfucking Hawkeye.”

Rebecca laughs, urging Riza to go upstairs with Roy and Jean. “Go. Seems like Roy needs a little more love.”

 

The room they hotbox in was an extra bedroom, the sheets on the mattress stripped away and the floor itself littered with boxes from the move, so it was perfect, as far as absorbing the stink went. Jean told them to sit on the floor, and he invited others to come as well, so the room was crowded and getting a little hot. Even so, Riza shifted closer to Roy and let him rest his head on her shoulder. Her hand was out, too, palm facing up, so Roy took his chance and laced their fingers together.

“Hey, lovebirds, pay attention,” Jean calls out. “As I was saying, this, my friends, is called a pipe. So what you wanna do is hold your thumb on this little hole here when you light it up then let go when you think you’re all set. That clear enough for everybody?”

“Want me to light it for you?” Roy offers when the pipe gets passed their way.

Riza snorts. “You think I haven’t smoked weed before?” she challenges as she takes the pipe and lighter in her hand and let go of Roy in the process. It’s easy enough to follow Jean’s instruction, so she does, and Roy only watches her with awe.

“You’re very pretty, Riza,” Roy says once Riza passes the pipe and leans back on her hands, tuning out of the conversation the others were making about travelling, how they romanticised the trek across unknown lands with nothing but what they could carry on their backs. It sounded interesting, but Riza was bored, and she just hums at Roy’s praise, even as Roy adds, “I mean it.”

He looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time and maybe he was—this Riza that dolled herself up for an event, surrounded by friends and a sense of comfort. Likewise, it felt like she was seeing Roy for the first time. From her distance, she could see his eyelashes, which were _so_ long but straight, but more importantly, she could see the slope of his eyes, relaxed and happy, and he was all the more handsome for it. “You look good, too,” Riza offers at last, which makes Roy laugh.

At the third pass, Roy takes the pipe and motions for Riza to come closer. “Ever shotgunned?” he asks. Riza shakes her head, watching as Roy took a big hit before he passed it on then cupped Riza’s face in his hands. He leans in, and this time, Riza closes her eyes, her lips parting just as she felt Roy’s lips ghost over hers, the smoke in his mouth curling its way into hers.

She inhales, her fingers catching in Roy’s hair, then exhales when he pulls away after what seemed like an inexplicably long time. He’s all spaced out, staring at her almost blankly as he exhales, but then he starts to smile and laugh. Riza ends up laughing, leaning closer to him so he falls on his back on the floor and takes her with him.

“Hey, y’all better do that somewhere else,” Jean warns, and it takes nothing more than that for them to scramble upwards and out of the room, Roy needing to hold onto the railing by the stairs to keep steady.

“That was fun,” Riza remarks while dusting off the seat of her pants. She leans on the railing and thinks of nothing till Roy blurts out that he wants to kiss her, which makes her think of kissing him, of how maybe kissing him would be nice, so she leans closer to him and kisses him gently, their lips only pressing against each other for mere seconds.

She pulls away, lifting up her hand to press the pads of her fingers to her lips. A smile spreads across her face unbidden, and she’s speechless. The flush to her cheeks feels wonderful and romantic. She doesn’t think much of it, wrapping her arms around Roy’s neck and kissing him again.

He falters a bit, but he catches her just in time to wrap his arms around her waist, holding her tightly as if to say that he could do this forever. The curve of her mouth is pretty; he grazes his tongue over her bottom lip, trying to commit the shape of it to memory before he takes it into his mouth to suck on.

“ _Mm_ ,” Riza groans against his mouth. She angles her head back to grasp for the only word that registers in her brain at that moment: “Bathroom?”

It takes a while to find it, but when they do, it’s thankfully empty. Something about its still-clean state reeks of divine providence, or so it feels when Roy positions Riza on the sink after pushing away bottles then gets on his knees on the floor. She has to squirm and lift her hips up to get out of her pants, and Roy brings them along with her panties all the way down to her ankles, using his palms pressed against the insides of her thighs to spread her legs apart.

He meets her bare skin with his mouth, pulling her by the legs closer to him. She lets out a squeal and tugs on his hair, which made him groan. His hands are calloused and hot, almost searing, against the skin of her thighs, and his mouth was just as hot but _slick_ , leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of her thighs.

By the time he moved his way up, she was breathing heavily, her chest heaving. She pulls on his hair again to hurry him up, and he obeys, his nose brushing against her before he places his mouth on her clit. He tongues at it first, doing nothing but pressing the flat of his tongue on her clit until she got impatient. Then he laps her up and sucks on her clit, making her yank at his hair with such force that he groans so loudly on her, the sound and the feeling of it travelling up her spine deliciously.

He spreads her legs further apart, licking his way down till he’s fucking her with his tongue and his nose is pressed against her clit. _God_. She would scream if she could find her voice in her throat. All that comes out is a whimper.

And suddenly, Roy is getting messy, rushing himself, rushing _her_ , the way he looks when their eyes meet just begging for her to ride his face. She cants her hips up, a sound that was greedy and needy escaping from her lips, a high-pitched whine that turns into a low groan as she comes. Her whole body is shaking, and she twitches every time Roy flicked his tongue languidly on her clit, going, “Fuck fuck _fuck_ ,” as she finds herself wanting to both push him away and keep him clamped between her thighs.

Calming down took forever, it seems. Riza slumps against the wall and pets Roy’s hair, smiling at him, who was giving her an easy smile with his cheek resting on her thigh as a pillow and his fingers trailing up and down her other leg to eventually rest on her knee. She lets out a large sigh when Roy finally gets up and helps her put her clothes back on.

“How are you feeling?” Roy asks after he brings her in his arms and cups her face, kissing her slowly.

Riza laughs. “Can’t feel shit,” she answers. Roy hums then moves his mouth to rest on her throat, where he could feel her pulse beneath his lips.

“Should we go back out?”

“Gimme a minute.” She trails her nails down the curve of his shoulder, slips her hand inside his leather jacket to curl her hand over his chest. It felt as easy as lying down in bed and just as permanent.

“What’re you thinking about?” Roy asks. His cheek is resting on her collarbone, so she can’t see his face, but she can imagine what it must look like—eyes closed, mouth relaxed, hair plastered on his forehead from sweat. It scares her how much she likes it, likes _him_ , maybe.

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”


	2. even the moon is drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay it's finally done!! ♡ there were several revisions and overhauls done so at the end of it i am just so thankful and happy that i'm able to finish with a product i'm satisfied with. it was such a long journey for me. thank you so much for the support!! it truly meant a lot to me to read positive feedback. please enjoy!

**getting old**

Someone is banging on the door heavily, the gruff voice demanding they open up making Roy and Riza realise it’s Olivier, so they rush to open the door and let her in. She barely gets a word in—a straight “Riza, hold my hair, please”—before she rushes to bend down over the toilet and vomit into it, Riza indeed lifting her hair up and out of the way.

Olivier wipes her mouth and gets up to wash her mouth and hands, and even with all that, she looks at Roy and Riza through the mirror with such scrutiny that Riza can feel it crawl underneath her skin. “Riza, did you enjoy yourself?” she asks.

At that, Riza can’t help giggling, and she nods all the way out of the bathroom to the corridor.

“Are either of you sober enough to drive? I wanna get out of here, and that Miles guy says there’s a casino town six hours away.”

“I can drive,” Riza offers while thinking of heading back down to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and some pizza.

“I’ll pass,” Roy groans. “I’m getting old.”

“Just as well,” Olivier tells him. “I don’t trust you.” Her words were slurred but came out just as ice cold. Roy goes off to sulk somewhere, and she takes Riza by the wrist and leads her into the kitchen, telling her to sit down while she pours her a glass of water.

“Do you know where we’re headed?” Riza asks Olivier.

“East.”

“I might ask you to stay up with me, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” Olivier pours herself some water and drinks it all before pouring herself some more. As she searches the cabinets for coffee, she asks, “Are you sure you want to do this? You’ve got good friends here. All you have to do is fix it.”

“You don’t want me here,” Riza states. For the record, she considered asking, but she knew the answer already.

Olivier frowns, runs her fingers through her hair, _sighs_. “Of course I don’t. You’re a bright girl, Riz. Maybe you don’t see it, but there’s a life ahead of you.”

That sobers Riza up. “Don’t tell me you want to die like Roy.”

“I don’t,” Olivier answers with a roll of her eyes, “but even so, I think my time here is done.” While Riza was left silent and contemplating, Olivier decides for her: “I’m calling my brother Alex to pick you up. He’s a lawyer. A dumb one, but he gets the job done.”

“No need,” Riza says quietly, taking the cup of instant coffee Olivier’s made. “I’m coming with.”

“You’re not.”

“I am,” Riza insists.

“Is this because you love him—”

“It’s because I care about the two of you,” Riza snaps. “And I’m not letting you drive, drunk as you are.”

Olivier scowls at her but eventually concedes with a shrug. “Suit yourself. Find Mustang and get him to take a piss.”

 

Roy’s fallen asleep as soon as Riza started driving. Olivier rolls her eyes one more time then checks herself in the tiny mirror for smudges in her makeup before reapplying her lipstick. They don’t play music or talk, and even with the dark stretch of road ahead of them, Riza doesn’t feel sleepy at all.

 

 

**the taming of the shrew**

Dawn breaks and passes before they arrive at the hotel that reeked of old world charm, the kind that was seen in black and white movies before real life had a chance to chip away at the paint. Within the hotel’s premises is the casino, which Olivier went straight for while Riza checked them in and lugged Roy with her up to their room.

The room is burgundy, a suite with two queen-sized beds. Riza puts Roy down on one of them then strips out of her clothes, wanting desperately for a shower.

“What happened to your back?” Roy asks, his voice groggy with sleep.

Riza lets out a gasp of surprise, scrambling for the jacket she wore to cover up her torso. “You scared me,” she breathes out, her other hand reaching for her back, her fingers brushing against the mottled scars on the surface.

Roy looks nauseated, the distaste coming out in his tone when he asks again, “What happened?” Right away, he goes, “Never mind,” and covers his head with the blanket. Riza lets out a deep breath then heads to the bathroom.

 

Olivier comes back and tears open the curtains so Riza and Roy were immediately woken up by the bright afternoon sun. “Get up. We’re hitting the casino later,” she instructs.

“We just got here,” Roy grouses.

“You’ve been sleeping the whole time,” Olivier chastises him. “It’s time you get off your ass, don’t you think?” She threw a bag to Riza, who crawled into bed in the hotel issue bathrobe and fell asleep that way.

“New clothes?” Riza murmurs as she goes through what’s in the bag. “Anyway, Liv, shouldn’t you be getting some sleep?”

The suggestion makes Olivier frown. “I’ll sleep later. I don’t want to stay here too long either. It’s a small town.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Riza admonishes and peels back her blankets to make way for Olivier, who acts like it can’t be helped and so settles by Riza’s side just like that. After a few minutes, all Riza could hear was gentle breathing.

“The taming of the shrew,” Roy remarks, his voice kept low so as not to wake Olivier.

Riza shakes her head. “I should go get us food,” she announces. “Do you want anything in particular?”

“I’ll go with you,” Roy offers, and he gets up from the bed to prove it, his face entirely creased from being pressed against the pillow. “I just need a shower.”

They find themselves walking around the town some thirty minutes later. Roy had kept his hand open for her to take, and when Riza finally took it, it seemed like it took forever to get there, but Roy’s grateful.

“What do you think Liv would like?” Riza asks as she eyes the display of pastries inside a cafe. She orders a cup of tea to go while Roy orders an iced americano.

“I’m fairly sure she hates me,” Roy says by way of an answer. Riza snorts at that and orders another iced americano for Olivier as well as some quiches. “What’s so funny, Riz?”

“I don’t think she hates you,” is all Riza says as she hooks the bag of takeaway on her elbow and takes her drink, slipping her free hand back into Roy’s.

“Think you got her all figured out?”

“I don’t know the first thing about her,” Riza admits with a frown, “though I don’t think it matters what her life was like, do you? Whatever it was, it’s just made her very offhanded about caring about other people.”

Roy hums and squeezes her hand. He leans in to kiss her—a brief peck on the lips—before he says, “You’re too nice.”

 

 

**take a chance on me**

“So I was thinking earlier,” Olivier says after she’s drank some of her coffee and eaten a quiche with her fingers, “that we should play.”

“You mean a scam?” Roy deadpans. “I’m in.”

“It’ll be easy ‘cause we’re three,” Olivier explains with a grin. “It can make everything look so much more believable.”

 

Riza waits about thirty minutes after Olivier had left the room to go down into the casino, feeling conscious at the eyes fixed on her and her plunging neckline, which tapered off right before her navel. This was before she finds the table Olivier’s playing at and worms her way in, going, “Mind if I play a few rounds?” Then she smiles at the dealer, the others around the table, and Olivier, who had her shoulders brushed against Riza’s but largely ignored her. “Please be gentle on me.”

(“Riza will come down and play with me. She won’t do well but won’t do badly either.” The next thing Olivier says makes her lips curl into a fuck-you-smile that she directs at Roy: “Then she gets bored and starts rooting for me.”)

“Tough luck, little lady,” the man to Riza’s right remarks after Riza reveals her cards, a queen and ten pair that’s utterly defeated by Olivier’s flush of deceptively low cards. With a sigh and a pout, Riza watches Olivier move the chips to her already growing pile. “There’s always the next round, eh?”

“I’m about done here,” Riza grouses. “I’ll have better luck betting on her than myself anyway.” She stands up then places her hands on Olivier’s shoulders, her fingers wandering downwards.

Olivier hums, mouth quirking upwards, satisfied with herself. “Why don’t you kiss these for good luck?” she suggests, lifting up the two cards just dealt to her towards Riza. With another smile, Riza ghosts her lips against the flat of the cards, not wanting to leave a stain of lipstick on the surface.

“Hope you don’t mind me intruding,” Roy says. He takes the seat Riza’s just left then calls on the bet with the leftover chips on the table. “I couldn’t help noticing how exciting this table was.”

“You must’ve been bored to death, then,” Olivier remarks. Her cards, an ace and a king, seem promising, though the dealer’s just put down a six, an eight, and a jack on the centre of the table.

(“Mustang comes up and joins us, making it look like we’re evenly matched,” Olivier continues, “but it’s only because I trained him beforehand.”

“If I didn’t know any better,” Roy pipes up with a scowl, “I’d think you just want me to feel like an idiot.”)

The man from earlier raises, pushing a high stack of coins towards the pot. Roy sighs and puts out, having no choice but to play along, and Olivier follows suit. She shrugs as she tosses some chips in.

When the fifth card is dealt, Olivier’s hand can only manage an ace-high hand, so she reveals her cards with a toss of her hair over her shoulder, a gracious fold.

“Tough luck finds you everywhere.” The man to Roy’s right shows a pair of jacks, eyeing Olivier’s hand with glee.

“That’s true. It seems to bite you when you least suspect it,” Roy muses. He shows his cards, an eight and a six that make a full house with the pair of dealt eights, much to the disappointment of the other man, who watches Roy bring the chips closer to his part of the table. Then, Roy turns to Riza and asks, “Maybe you should take a chance on me?”

Riza doesn’t take her hands off of Olivier and only drawls at him, “Win a couple more, and we’ll see.”

The other man, definitely a few years older than Olivier, stands up and pats Roy on the shoulder. “Get ‘em, son,” he says then heads for the bar, Olivier snorting as she watched him walk past.

 

(“We’ll cash in whenever Riz says we should,” Olivier then says after explaining the mechanics of poker and how each hand is ranked, how if the player calls, it’s most likely because they’re approaching a hand with two pairs.

“What if I don’t want to?”

“You will,” Olivier assures her. “It gets boring, trust me.”)

Riza taps Olivier’s shoulder a couple of hours later, facing her with a wicked grin that pulls Olivier up from her seat and away from the table, their chips in a bag handed by a passing waiter. “Enough of that now,” she coos at Olivier. “I want you to buy me a drink.”

Roy frowns but signals that he’s playing another round. The dealer places an ashtray near him.

Olivier comments, “Did we piss off your boyfriend?” when Riza takes her arm, letting her lead them both to the bar.

“Roy’s a big boy,” is all Riza says before ordering a gin and tonic for herself, though she can’t help angling herself on the stool so she could watch Roy play.

“You’re colder than me,” Olivier sniffs. She takes off her blazer and places it on the back of her chair, her hair now curling over her bare back. Then she orders a whiskey, neat, and downs it in one go so she could order another, her free hand sliding towards Riza without charm or artfulness behind it. “Did you have fun?”

Riza nods and smiles at her, returning her eyes on Roy to catch him in the middle of raising a bet, placing double the bet in front of him. “Roy’s so smart,” she says after a sip of her drink. “He got all that probability shit in an hour.”

“You’re sure it’s not the teacher?” Olivier teases.

“She must have beaten it into him,” Riza says. The table Roy’s playing at is on the turn, so Riza shrugs then turns to better face Olivier and her pristine makeup. “Hey, Liv, I know you’re not exactly wanting for money—”

“What’s a woman like me from a rich family like mine doing as a card shark?” Olivier prompts, not unkindly, though she ends up frowning because of her drink. Riza found out the hard way that Olivier’s family was as prominent as they come, swatting away Roy’s dumbfounded face when he saw that she didn’t recognise Olivier as an Armstrong. “I was an investment banker before, which—if you think about it—isn’t too far off. My old job just sounds better on paper.”

“You quit?” Riza likes the feeling of Olivier’s hand in hers, how Olivier traces the veins running along her wrist with a careful tenderness, a sweet kind of scrutiny. “Or…?”

“I quit,” Olivier answers simply.

“You sound like Roy,” Riza teases, her smile turning into a laugh when Olivier rolls her eyes. Riza adds, “I think you both have a lot more in common than you’re willing to let on.”

“ _Please_ ,” Olivier scoffs. “I have no interest in a family business that would eventually be handed over to my _little brother_.”

“You could make a name for yourself,” Riza suggests.

“I’ve thought of that, but it’s not what I want. It seemed expected of me to head in that direction.” The next thing she says is lighter, teasing, with a friendly tap on Riza’s palm: “Come now, Riz, say sorry for comparing me to Mustang.”

“Sorry.”

And to prove it, Riza leans closer to Olivier and gives her a kiss, lips on the dangerous corner between her cheek and her full bottom lip. Olivier’s mouth parts open at that and she barely remembers to let go of her drink before kissing Riza back right on her pretty little mouth, wanting to tug on the tender bottom lip with her teeth to make Riza weak in the knees. It’s over too quickly, but Riza’s fingers have made themselves known to Olivier’s nape and maybe they plan on staying there; Olivier’s hopeful.

“You could stand to be nicer to Roy,” Riza points out. She’s a little buzzed, Olivier’s perfume leaving a heady cloud in her wake. The glass of gin and tonic kept surreptitiously filling itself up, too. She can make out where Olivier’s mascara clumped between her lashes, the bit of foundation caked around her nose. It’s a bit obsessive, maybe, but she’s numb.

In return, Olivier only smiles at her and says, “We’ll see.”

 

 

**cataclysmic**

Olivier kisses gently, the kind that wasn’t necessarily behaved because it teased, her tongue flicking into Riza’s parted mouth with ease in a way that makes Riza glad for the privacy of their own room, the wall she can lean on as she hooks her leg around Olivier’s waist. The kiss goes from square on Riza’s mouth to her jaw, trailing down her throat while Olivier unbuttons Riza’s jeans to get into the bodysuit underneath.

Riza lets out a sigh, liking the pressure of the heel of Olivier’s hand on her crotch. She grinds into it, which makes Olivier pin her back to the wall by her shoulder as Olivier gets down on her knees and kisses Riza’s thighs as soon as her jeans are on the floor.

At that point, Riza regains herself and brings Olivier up by tugging on her hair. Olivier licks her lips and asks, “What’s on your mind?”

“Maybe we should talk more?” Riza jokes, her own thought making her laugh.

“Is that what you want to do?”

It’s impossible to get Riza to stop laughing now, and Olivier’s joined in a little. “No, not at all,” Riza answers. She undoes the knot of Olivier’s top, letting the fabric slip down to reveal her breasts. Then she tugs on Olivier’s arm to get her on the bed.

“Have you ever been with a girl before?” Olivier asks. She slips out of her pantsuit and panties then lies down on the bed with her legs spread and knees hiked up.

“A couple times,” Riza answers while positioning herself on the bed, knees between Olivier’s leg and the bodysuit undone, hitched up her waist, “back in college.”

Olivier grins up at her, using her elbows to prop herself up. “And?”

“It was fun,” Riza answers as she lowers herself to rest on her elbows. Olivier shifts up till her back meets the headboard of the bed, but she finds she doesn’t mind when Riza puts her mouth on her, clumsy and inelegant, _sloppy_.

The taste, though familiar, always surprised her—a slight tang that teased her tongue. It takes a while to get used to; Riza makes broad strokes with the flat of her tongue that makes Olivier moan and bite on her bottom lip.

She runs a hand through Riza’s hair, pulling it away from her face. Riza relaxes at that and leans her cheek into the inner of Olivier’s thigh, her eyes fluttering closed as she licks languidly into Olivier, puckers her lips to suck on Olivier’s clit. When Olivier lets out a gasp, Riza can’t help smiling from pride, using it as encouragement to trail her hand down Olivier’s thigh so Riza could press the pads of her fingers against Olivier’s entrance.

By the time she’s put a finger in, making Olivier squirm, Riza is making a pleased hum and she dares open her eyes to watch Olivier play with her nipple and grind into Riza’s face, on the finger—now two—that was inside her.

“Don’t stop,” Olivier threatens, her words coming out in a breathy sigh.

Riza shakes her head as if to say she’d never and Olivier groans loudly, her hand in Riza’s hair now pulling with such force that Riza’s pressed so deeply against her, inhaling the scent of Olivier that overwhelmed everything else. There’s thunder in Riza’s ears, crashing loudly in anticipation of Olivier coming, coming on _her face._ She hurries up her pace, fucking Olivier with three fingers now, the slick heat making her forget to use her tongue, but when she does, it’s cataclysmic, it’s wonderful—Riza judges from the way Olivier’s moans break with each breath.

For better access, Riza slips her fingers out and uses her hands to guide Olivier’s legs, pushing them closer to Olivier’s stomach so she can see her slick and bare and blushed. She licks her lips while Olivier slides her hand down to spread herself open, fingers shiny from dipping into herself. It’s mesmerising; Riza can’t pull her gaze away.

It’s then that they hear the click of the lock turning. Roy walks into the room and stops, Riza’s entire body going rigid as he takes a look at the whole scene. “I must have missed a memo,” he says drily, a wry smile spreading across his face. “Does it taste good, Riz?”

Surprisingly, Olivier doesn’t tell Roy to fuck off. Instead she goes, “Would you like to find out?” and laughs when Roy’s face turns beet red.

Roy clears his throat but shrugs out of his jacket anyway. “This is a trap, isn’t it?”

“Like what, my vagina is an abyss and once you’re in, I’ll swallow you whole?”

The silence is scandalous. Olivier raises a brow then presses her knees together. Riza moves out of the way to lie down beside her.

“You really thought that?” Olivier asks Roy, who was left standing by the foot of the bed, dumbfounded.

“Just a bit,” Roy admits and Riza laughs so hard at that, giggling against the crook of Olivier’s neck.

Olivier rolls her eyes. “I don’t bite, so. Please.” She opens her legs again as if to say she won’t say this twice, and Roy gets the hint, hurrying to kneel on the bed in front of Olivier. He places his hands on her knees as if to steady himself.

“Am I dreaming?” he muses aloud. He kisses the inside of her knee and makes his way down in a soft trail of kisses, letting his tongue graze at her bare skin. Olivier’s head lolls to rest on top of Riza’s and she breathes in deeply, a sharp inhale from her nose when Roy starts to lap her up.

Riza reaches down to touch herself as she listens to Olivier, the sounds she’s making satisfying her, making her squirm and grind against the palm that she uses to press against her clit. Her fingertips ghost over her entrance, running along the edges to feel how wet she is. As she enters herself with two fingers, she lets out a dreamy sigh and spreads her legs even further for access.

She meets Roy’s eyes, and even when she takes her gaze away, she can feel it still. It burns through her skin, making her feel even hotter, like her hips wanted to collapse from the intensity. Her toes curl into the sheets, and Roy’s _still_ watching her to the point that he forgets himself. Olivier pulls on his head, making him go back to her with a subservient groan.

Close, Riza slips her fingers out and keeps them stroking on her clit. And she doesn’t care about edging herself closer and closer, going as fast as her wrist allows her to till she breaks, sounding strangled, desperate. Her body quivers even after she closes her legs and lies down on the bed, hyperaware of the slickness between her legs that numbs her.

Not long after, Olivier comes again. She reaches for the collar of Roy’s shirt, pulling him up to give him a messy kiss and moaning loudly against his mouth while she was still trembling. He’s shocked, for sure, but he kisses her back with his hands cupping her face till Olivier becomes quiet, her eventual silence lulling Riza to sleep.

 

 

**more than a woman**

RIza wakes up to Roy pressed against her with his arms around her waist and Olivier sleeping soundly on the other bed, her hair curled over the pillows with her back turned towards them. It startles her, waking up like this, and her throat closes when Roy’s arms tighten around her as she shifts around in bed, trying to get up.

“Sleep,” Roy mumbles— _urges_ her, his mouth on her nape as he exhales warmly on her skin. Even so, Riza shifts till she’s facing Roy and can cup his face in her hand.

She has to will herself to think calmly, breathe deeply, and she takes this time to map out the contours of his face beneath her fingers, feel his hair that was soft and not bogged down by any product. In any case, she’s not sleepy anymore, but she can keep still and close her eyes.

Roy doesn’t get to sleep for much longer; he unwraps himself from Riza and grabs the pack of cigarettes on the table. Riza follows him, first shrugging on a robe and slippers before heading out.

“Morning,” Roy greets her. He offers her a stick, which she takes. “How was your sleep?” he then asks once she’s done lighting.

“Never better,” she answers with a frown. “I sleep straight here, but…” She turns her head to face the balcony, where all she sees is a sleepy grey town, the hit of the cigarette making her dizzy.

“But…?” Roy prompts.

“I—I thought you were someone else,” Riza says. “At first.”

“Hm.” Roy yawns and rubs at his eyes, flicks the ash off the edge of the balcony. “Did he do that? To your back?” He turns to face Riza, who’s still keeping her eyes away from him. She nods. He doesn’t ask more, thankfully, and neither does he move closer to her to feel the scars dotting her back, to hold her.

 

They finish smoking in silence. On the way back, Riza reaches for his hand.

 

“I know your brother,” Roy points out to Olivier with a slur. Then he shakes his head. “General chemistry class. Can’t believe I forgot. Then I saw him again in western history class.”

Olivier shrugs and takes another sip. Her eyes are lidded and dreamy, and she runs a hand through her hair with sluggishness.

In this lull between idle conversations, Roy leans closer to Riza on the couch, skin prickling at how Olivier’s just _watching_. “Marry me, Riza,” he says, and fuck him if he knows whether it was deliberate or not. Olivier throws something at him—the bottle, which was overshot so it crashes on the floor and shatters into a million pieces—and scowls.

“Was that a joke? Do it again,” Olivier orders. “Properly.”

Riza tries to get Roy’s weight off of her, a slow smile spreading across her face. Her fingers are numb and icy, breaking out into a sweat when Roy takes her hands and clasps them, keeping them close to his chest.

“I love you, Riza Hawkeye,” Roy declares without stutter or pause. Maybe he was meaning to say something more after, but all he says is, “Marry me,” again, expecting some weight in it.

“You’re drunk,” Riza teases, but she leans in closer to kiss him, his clumsy mouth. Someone comes up to the table to clean up the fragments then politely asks them to leave.

 

“I want to wake up next to you forever,” Roy says in a rush, his hold on Riza’s hands clammy and tight as he stands in front of her by the altar.

Riza giggles. “Stop,” she shushes, and the noise she makes from slapping Roy’s arm echoes in the chapel.

“You’re more than a woman; you’re an _angel_ ,” he continues. “When you saved my life, I really thought you’d come down from heaven—”

“ _Stop_ ,” Riza repeats, embarrassed and blushed. This time, she wrangles her hands away from him and presses her palm to his mouth.

“Please do,” Olivier comments as drily as she can muster. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“I’ve thought about this, and I’m absolutely convinced that this is the last thing I want to do before I die,” Roy says. A police report had come in that morning about a stolen car, which was last seen crossing a state border. There’s a bounty given by the owner of the car. They took the car and left, stopping for a drink at the bar in the nearest town, which was shitty and baptist and so conveniently had a church to sneak into.

“Prison not enticing enough for you? It’ll only be three years max,” Olivier remarks.

“I’ve read Foucault. Once you get in the system, there’s no getting out.” Riza laughs at that, and Roy, now emboldened, continues: “I just want to marry the most beautiful girl in the world then die.”

Riza steps forward and closes the gap between them. “Looks like I’ll settle for you,” she teases before pressing their lips together, Roy in utter shock before he moves to caress her face, tangle his fingers in her hair.

“If you’re done,” Olivier interrupts with a clearing of her throat, “I’d like to leave. I’m getting the feeling that God doesn’t want me here.”

 

 

**slow down now**

The motel in town is nothing at all like the last hotel, so it’s nothing at all that Olivier managed to get them a separate room, but they close the door gently and tiptoe, as if the room had a presence that dwarfed theirs.

“Why?” Roy mumbles as he lifts up the hem of her top to expose her stomach then brings it all the way up, flinging it away.

“Why?” Riza repeats, her palms flat on his chest to feel him, then she undoes the buttons on his shirt and slides the fabric down his shoulders. She puts her mouth on his collarbone, leaving butterfly kisses on a trail to the centre of his chest before Roy pulls her up to kiss her.

“Why would you indulge me like this?” Roy wonders aloud against her hair, mouth moving across her cheek before resting on the corner of her mouth.

“Can’t I do it for me?” Riza counters. She unbuttons his pants, grinding into him as she pulls them down.

He stills then grabs her hips, running the flat of his hand down her stomach before he stops near the zipper, undoing her pants with urgency and taking her panties with it. They step nearer towards the bed, kicking their pants off their ankles, then fall on the bed with a laugh, Roy taking Riza’s wrist to guide her towards his mouth.

She stops and looks down at him, heat rising to her face. “Ain’t I gonna be heavy?” she asks, a slight breathlessness to her tone.

Without saying anything, Roy brings her hips down, his eyes fluttering closed as he licks into her. She lets out a shaky breath and extends her hand out to grip the headboard, her other hand firm on Roy’s hair.

“Slow down now,” Riza says, her words shaking into a whisper. One of Roy’s hands had slipped behind her to cup her ass, squeezing one cheek with a firm pressure. She feels impossible, like she’s floating as she rolls her hips over his mouth, the arm Roy has wrapped around her thigh the only thing keeping her down. Just a _little_ more—yeah, that’s it—she doesn’t realise she’s said it aloud till she comes with a loud squeal, giddy about the bubbling feeling licking up her spine and through her fingers, keeping them locked in their grips and trembling.

Roy doesn’t— _won’t_ —let go, not even after Riza’s calmed down and she’s pulling on his hair, lifting her hips up so that his mouth only ghosts along the inside of her thighs. He cranes his neck to kiss her there, eyes shut like he’s falling asleep, but he’s smiling widely, cheeks and chin glistening.

She can’t make her knees work, she tells him, like there’s electricity running through her joints, so he helps her down on the bed, on her back, legs wide open where he can settle in. He leans down to kiss her, his mouth falling open with a groan when she reaches down to stroke him, groaning even through her clumsy fingers that couldn’t keep their grip; she just needed to guide him to her, so he joins a hand to hers.

The contact is too hot that it makes her withdraw, but it doesn’t matter now that he’s sliding himself in, slowly with his hands on her waist and fingers digging gently into her sides. It’s been a while and she’s tense. He’s frowning because he feels it, too—her thighs clenching together, throbbing.

“ _Relax_ ,” he murmurs against her mouth after he leaned down to kiss her. He kisses her again, gently, and lets her whimper against his throat.

Her nails rake down his back as she lets her thighs fall open again to let him in all the way. Once he’s in, he hikes her legs up to wrap around his waist before he pulls out and thrusts into her again. The sudden movement makes her gasp, elongating into a feeble whine as she feels him draw out of her with a slick slide, his angle allowing him to brush over her clit.

Before long, he pulls out and asks her to turn over.

“I can’t,” she protests with a weak laugh. “I can’t feel my fucking knees, Roy.”

“I’ll hold you up,” he promises.

It takes a little while longer for Riza to roll over and prop herself up on her knees and palms. She’s waiting for him to press his body against hers again, but all she feels is a finger, tracing the marks on her back, and she goes completely still.

“Was that why?” she asks.

“No,” Roy rushes to answer. “It slipped my mind, I—I’m sorry…” He’s still wandering over them, but then he remembers himself, remembers to keep a hand on the small of her back as he enters her again. He picks up the pace. She keens when he brings his fingers to her clit, the sudden jolt causing her to grip the sheets with fierceness even as she grinds up into him to get more, more, _more_ —

“ _Please_ ,” she whines, her mouth muffled by the pillows. Roy lets out a soft laugh.

“You sound so nice,” Roy purrs with his free hand going through her hair to soothe her. He dips his head to rest on her shoulder blade so he can steady himself, stroke her harder. It can’t be long now, with the way Riza feels her body tense and grow cold, her blood rushing in her ears like thunder.

When she comes, she can’t keep herself up anymore. She falls slack on the bed, held up only by her knees as Roy continues to fuck into her, riding out his own orgasm inside her, and she can feel it, hot and dripping down her thighs, even when he pulls down and gets them both to lie down on the bed properly. It’s sticky between her fingers when she reaches down to catch it, bitter and salty when she puts it in her mouth.

“Do you always do that?” Roy asks, balking a little at the sight of her licking her lips.

“No…” Riza admits with a knit of her brow. “I was curious.” They don’t say anything more as Roy pulls her into a tight embrace, using a hand to guide her by the wrist to his stomach, where she can feel the flesh of his scar, which was warm and tender. She winces at the contact.

“I burnt myself,” Roy explains. No, it didn’t hurt, he continues. She doesn’t ask, and he doesn’t elaborate, just because it seemed too far away to bring back. All they do is kiss. When they pull apart for air, Roy goes, “I really love you, Riza.” It might have seemed disingenuous, is what he means, but I’m sincere.

Riza nods. “I know,” she replies. “I love you, too.” The certainty of it takes her aback, but it feels right.

The smile he gives her then is incredibly sheepish, red dusting his cheeks. “Thank you.”

 

 

**at the end**

Maybe for the sake of privacy, Olivier doesn’t intrude until much later the following day, reeking of smoke and her makeup explicitly lived in. She knocked on the door, and while Roy’s first instinct was to wrap the blanket tighter around himself, Riza’s was to throw some clothes on and hurry to open it, stepping aside to let Olivier in.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing Olivier says, her voice run thin. “I’ve been thinking all night and—and I want to go home.”

“You mean turn yourself in?” Roy cuts in. “You know what that means, right?”

Olivier reaches into her jacket for another cigarette, her fingers shaking in its hold on the lighter. “I do, but it doesn’t matter. I think I’m at the end of… whatever this is. So I’m going. Anyway, I called Alex and he said he’ll fix it.”

“You’re leaving?” Riza asks. Then like a child, she argues, “But you can’t. We’re in this together.”

The sentiment makes Olivier raise a brow at her. “Do you seriously believe that?” she counters. Riza flushes red and is left floundering for an answer, her legs shaking as she walks back to the bed.

“You _did_ pick her up after she killed her coworker,” Roy points out drily, now sitting up to draw an arm around Riza. “I think it’s only fair to agree with Riz.”

Olivier rolls her eyes at that then takes a drag from her cigarette.

“C’mon, Liv,” Roy then teases her, “don’t be a bitch.”

“I’m really not,” Olivier snaps. “It’s just painfully obvious to me that you want time together.” Riza’s brows knit together. Olivier notices her and asks, “Am I wrong?”

“No… It’s just that I don’t know if there’s a life I can come back to,” Riza admits. She thinks of Rebecca and how she must be worried that Riza hasn’t shown up for work in days. Maybe the suspicion will come a bit after, when someone points out that Riza going missing and a coworker dying just cannot be coincidences. Maybe the suspicion’s already popped up. She doesn’t know how long she can keep this up for.

“I think you do,” Olivier offers. “I told you I’d help you take care of it.”

“How about we just run away and settle somewhere far?” Roy suggests. His tone is so teasing and light that he nearly came off as joking, and Riza has the better sense not to laugh, though she does lean back into Roy and let him fully embrace her.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” Riza says eventually.

Olivier sighs and stamps out her cigarette on the sole of her boot. “Guess that’s settled, then.”

“No, not really,” Riza answers. “We’re coming with you.”

“Who am I to come between you and your closure?” Olivier remarks.

 

They leave at dawn. Olivier’s driving; she asks Riza to stay in shotgun.

“What did you study back in college?” Olivier asks once they entered the freeway and Olivier could drive a little less mindfully.

The question makes Riza smile a bit, making Olivier frown. It just seems comical for Olivier to ask all that now, even with a ten-hour drive ahead of them. “Graphic design, why?”

Olivier shrugs. “I realise I don’t know much about you.”

“And you want to know now?”

“Is that a crime?”

“No, Liv. It just kinda makes me feel guilty about not opening up much,” Riza admits.

“Being a waitress is a part-time job?” Olivier then continues.

“Yeah. I’m trying to get a better one but it’s hard,” Riza explains, “coming from the country and all.”

With a nod, Olivier shifts her attention to Roy, glancing briefly at the rearview mirror to catch his eyes. “What was your dissertation about?”

“It’s complicated,” Roy begins.

“You’re probably not a good enough scientist if you can’t explain yourself,” Olivier retorts.

Roy huffs then says, “I’m working on a non-invasive method for detecting blood sugar levels. I mean, it’s not a new method—it’s called Fourier transform infrared spectroscopy, which is just a way of observing how certain materials reflect light. If this works out, then people wouldn’t have to do the skin-prick test anymore. My foster mom had diabetes and hated needles, so.”

“You’re gonna just leave your work like that?” Olivier asks in wonder.

“I got this kid helping me out,” Roy explains. “He wants to take it up anyway.”

“And your aunt?”

“She died a year after I started my dissertation.” Oh. Then, in the most incredibly dry tone, Roy continues, “My best friend died the year after.”

“I’m sorry,” Olivier says.

Riza shifts in her seat to face Roy and gives him a tiny smile. “I think you did good, Roy,” she tells him.

At that, Roy gives her a wry smile. “I’m just lucky that kid’s got a heart of gold. He's the youngest in the whole school to get a masters.”

“So you won’t go back?” Oliver prompts.

“Yeah, probably.”

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have wanted to go home,” Roy deadpans, voice absurdly calm as Olivier hurtles the car through the city. There are two police cars right on their tail, alerted when the car had gone from the perimeter of the city to a more densely populated neighbourhood.

“I wasn’t expecting such a warm reception,” Olivier bites back.

“We have to ditch the car,” Riza says. Her voice and hands shaking, her fingers resting against the window now making a nervous rattle.

“ _Where_?” Olivier hisses.

“I don’t know!”

“Don’t panic,” Roy cuts in. “I know a place. Go right at the second intersection.” He nods when Olivier makes the turn then tells her to turn left, head straight, and make a right at the far end.

“This parking building?” Olivier prompts.

“Yeah. Just park it then let’s run on foot.”

“They can’t see the inside of the car, can they?” Riza asks.

“They probably have a basic idea of what we look li—” Olivier’s eyes go wide as the sound of sirens rematerialises behind them, echoing in the cavernous parking lot. “Shit, let’s just get out of here.” She steps on the brakes and shifts the car into P, going into a run as soon as she’s out of the car. Roy and Riza follow a bit more lamely, cold panic going through Riza’s palms as she forces herself to run, even when Roy laces their fingers together, making her bound up the fire exit two steps at a time to keep up.

At the rooftop of the parking lot, Olivier lets out a huge, booming laugh.

“It’s such a nice day,” she remarks breathlessly, cheeks flushed and hair strewn all over her face but she’s only more beautiful for it. Riza finds herself drawn to her, walking with her to the ledge with Roy in tow.

“I haven’t had fresh air in so long,” Roy quips, making Riza laugh, the sound pealing and high.

With her free hand, Riza takes Olivier’s and gets up on the ledge just as the police cars appear, tires squealing as they came to a stop. She can’t feel her feet or her chest. “Fuck, I really wanted to say something funny,” she blurts out just as her stomach drops from looking down the building.

Roy laughs and kisses her knuckles. “Don’t worry about it,” he says.

“On Riza’s count,” Olivier says. “One.”

“Two,” Roy continues.

“Three.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the kid is alphonse lmao


End file.
